I guess we should expect such things by now, but every time a new set of Winter Olympics pops up, the events seem to get stranger and stranger.

Events like the skeleton, with a single participant flopping onto his belly and sledding down a mountain. That’s an event? Heck, we used to do that in the backyard.

Then there’s curling, the only Olympic event that requires a broomstick; the biathlon, which for reasons known only to the gods of Olympus somehow combines cross-country skiing with shooting a rifle; and the luge, in which the athlete sleds down a hill — backwards. Why?

To my mind the most interesting and widespread winter sports are completely overlooked and you’ll not see them at the Pyeongchang Games. At least this list is more practical than ice-mountain belly flopping. For example …

The barefooted potty trot, as it’s known in the Northern Hemisphere, involves the participant hopping out of bed on a cold Midwest February morning and dashing to the john for her morning ablutions. The object is to get as little of the actual bare toes as possible onto the cold hardwood floor. This particular event has an advantage in that, in addition to the visual excitement of watching the event, there will be the accompanying sounds of, “Ooo! Ahhh!” Eeee! Ow!”

The two-legged grocery split will be familiar to anyone who’s had to go grocery shopping in icy weather. The athlete must make it out of the grocery store and across an ice-slickened parking lot to her car while carrying a bag of groceries in each hand. The grocery sacks prevent the contestant from being able to catch herself as her legs go into the splits and she must somehow slowly lower herself to the ground while maintaining her dignity and not damaging her eggs. Oh, I realize that there’s the possibility of the Russian athletes using performance-enhancing drugs to keep them from splatting onto the ice so forcefully, but every event has its drawbacks. And this is one event where the women can compete equally with men and might perhaps even have an advantage with their lower center of gravity.

The back-bumper slalom slam takes place on the highway when the idiot behind you has been on your bumper for the last 20 miles over icy roads. You tap your brake for something minor like a stoplight or a second-grader in the road and the nincompoop comes crashing into your back bumper before accusing you of stopping without warning. Winners usually are determined by their cumulative IQs.

The thermo-sneak probably would be one of the most recognized events in my plan for a revised Winter Olympics. Each country sends a husband-and-wife team to this competition. To win, the lady of the house must be able to pass by the home’s thermostat and kick it up 3 degrees without the penny-pinching husband noticing it.

The urban drive blocker is a competition not just for countries but for cities. Each town would send one snowplow and driver to Pyeongchang, where each contestant would be given a street in the city. Whichever plow driver manages to block the most private driveways with his mound of snow will come home with the gold.

The two-ply sneeze dodger is an Olympic event for competitors of any age, but quickness and agility will bring home the medals. Every contestant will be required to walk through a shopping mall, a grocery store and a third-grade classroom before taking a ride in a crowded elevator up to the gate of an airline terminal to board a 2-hour flight in mid-February — all while dodging the sneezes, coughs, hacks and dripping noses of flu season without falling ill. It’s a tough event in that, while the winners are applauded, the losers are sent to bed bathed in Vicks VapoRub.

After all, the point of all modern Olympics isn’t national pride or athletic expertise but rather the amount of commercial time that can be sold by the networks covering the event. If we’d throw in a few of the above events, they’d provide enough entertainment to coax a few folks away from Netflix.

You ever in Coonridge, stop by. We may not answer the door but you’ll enjoy the trip.

Freida Marie Crump chronicles the comings and goings in Coonridge for the Journal-Courier.